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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069670">1940 Birchwood Avenue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trxtr/pseuds/trxtr'>trxtr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e08 Monster Inside, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Guilt, Hurt TK Strand, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic, Pining, S1E08, Whump, Worried Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star), Worried Owen Strand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:20:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trxtr/pseuds/trxtr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't sure if it was his boots thudding against the asphalt, or his heart pounding in his ears at first, so he didn't stop until he realized the silence of the bystanders on the outside, and when he turned to the house, his ears were filled with a string of horrified syllables, vaguely resembling that of his almost-boyfriend’s name.</p><p>“TK? TK!”</p><p>or: </p><p>The missing scene(s) from 1x08: Monster Inside</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlos Reyes &amp; Owen Strand, Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Michelle Blake/Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star), TK Strand/Owen Strand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1940 Birchwood Avenue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi this is the second installment of Max's Birthday-Month-And-A-Half and I would like you all to know that this for is how Max and I became friends!! I sent it to him to beta out of the blue like three months ago and then I kinda abandoned it, but he fell in love with it so I figured I'd make it part of his birthday fics. Ily Max.</p><p>Did you know?</p><p>1940 Birchwood Ave does not exist in Austin, but 1940 Birchwood (a different street name because I am afraid I might be disclosing someone's home address) does? I think that's pretty rad.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>tw: gunshot, guilt, near death experience.</b></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>All he could hear was his horrified breaths, struggling for air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>TK didn’t know what had happened. He could barely recall the past ten seconds. All he really could remember was climbing off the rig and making careful eye contact with Carlos as he grabbed onto the battering ram. He remembered Carlos’s confused gaze. He remembered it being replaced with one of care when the other overheard Michelle say, “Possible cardiac event.” He remembered shrugging in his direction, battering ram placed perfectly in his tight grip. He remembered Carlos mouthing a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>be careful </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his direction. He remembered thinking that the other had no right to care about him in such a way. Not yet at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the seconds after were blurry; jumbled. It was just loud and painful and he didn’t know why. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked to his father when he felt his feet slowly lose their balance. Owen’s features were stuck in an anxious contortion that TK had only seen once before. It was a moment; a clear moment in which TK didn't think he could bury within the past ten seconds. TK tried to meet his fathers eyes, but the man had his eyes locked on his son’s chest, barely holding TK up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could hear himself breathe, even with the overwhelming sounds of shuffling and screaming around him. His heart was pounding in his ears, shielding him from the commotion from within the hallway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt strong arms around him, even as he sat back against the wall. The grip was tight and familiar. It was a reflex that his father had picked up from when TK was younger and had panic attacks. The boy would always fall calm and silent after about twenty seconds in his father’s strong arms. It was pressure therapy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except, TK wasn't panicking, and he couldn't breathe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D-Dad,” He sputtered, his fingers beginning to grip at the carpet. He needed something to ground him; something to make him feel like he was safe and connected to where he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t really know where he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen was talking to him. TK could see it, but the relentless ringing in his ears kept his eardrums practically under water. Owen’s words fell on deaf ears, quite literally. TK couldn't hear anything. It was as if oxygen had become an insulator, and the more deprived of it he got, the more the air wanted to stick to his eardrums. He couldn’t hear a word they were saying. Not even the syllables, nor the tones of the voices. He heard ringing; pounding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, TK did what any EMT or field medic would do. He ran through a workup in his head, checking what hurt, how and why it did, and after about three seconds, and putting the pieces together with the flash of the little boy in his memory, he recognized that he had been shot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, okay, this is good. This is really good, just tell them, maybe save them some time—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>TK felt blood begin to gurgle at the back of his throat. He was being forced down on his back, his father having moved to place his hands on his chest. He, for the first time since everything started, got to make eye contact with his father, and when he inhaled just to tell them that he possibly knew what was wrong, only five words came to mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Carlos.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was with a sickening realization that he spotted Carlos over his father’s shoulder, frozen in an expression of pained fear. TK knew that he was going to be berated with the fact that he did not heed Carlos’s warning, before, but that was the furthest thing from his mind when he reached up to grab at his father’s wrist. He mindlessly reached for Carlos, as well, but stopped short when it sent a searing pain throughout his shoulder. He let out a gurgled cry, and tried to inhale, but the movement sent him spiraling deeper into the agony abyss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Help me,” he managed, a tear falling from his eyelids to the carpet beneath him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within an instant, it was not only Owen by his side, but Carlos as well, leaning down and holding his face in his hands. TK could only focus on him. His vision was turning to shadows; general shapes dancing throughout the chaos around him. He could only see Carlos. He could only feel his dad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then those horrified breaths ceased, Owen’s hand being the last thing he felt; Carlos’s eyes being the last thing he saw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos felt like he was stuck in a loop. It was an old tape loop, of sorts. One that started out beautiful and vintage sounding, and was generally comfortable to listen to until it slowly burned through his ears. Every crackle, every volume variation, every breath and every sound all became predictable, and he was getting sick of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also felt like he was balanced on a tight rope, though, listening to the same old stupid tape loop while teetering between loving someone and leaving someone. If he took too much of a step, Carlos may fall off to the side, but if he tried to correct himself, he would overcorrect, and mislead TK. He was stuck in the in between, reliving it over and over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wake up. Check phone. Go to work. Go to calls. See TK. Smile at TK. Tell TK to stay safe. Get back to the precinct. Do paperwork. Call. TK. Paperwork. Call. TK. Paperwork. Go home. Check phone again. Text TK. TK texts back. Just friends? Just friends. Stop texting TK. Eat. Brush teeth. Go to bed. Repeat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he was lucky, he would end up tangled sloppily in the other’s limbs after a quick, post-shift hookup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He desperately wanted out of this rut. He wanted TK. He wanted to see the other and talk this through; who they are; what they are. He was so sick of living in this in between.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he wasn't careful what he wished for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>TK was practically the only thing on his mind when Grace’s voice came through his radio. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos would have jumped, if he didn’t know how to conceal his startle. He was always good at hiding how afraid he was, no matter the circumstance, though he did not quite enjoy the fact that his head was pulled from something so important to him. Nonetheless, he reached up to his shoulder, and squeezed his radio. “This is Officer Reyes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Officer, how close are you to 7th and Channel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Close.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos sighed. Overall, it had been a quiet night, perfect for indulging every single thought that came into his mind. He and TK were starting over; taking it slow, actually trying a couple dates, and his mind was still stuck on the last night the two had shared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't have time to slip down into his only-safe-for-TK thoughts, for Grace was already speaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. We’ve got a possible 10-62. Home invasion on 843 Channel. Homeowner is Bruce Ackerman, 46. Proceed with caution.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos frowned. Thinking about his almost-not-so-boyfriend would have to wait until after work. He just hoped that his shift would go by in an instant, like it did when TK was there. “10-4.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos rounded the corner, hoping to get this done relatively quickly. Home invasions were always tricky. Carlos had experience in the particular emergency, though. He was called to enough that he could handle himself when he needed to. It still didn't stop his pulse from screaming in his ears when he pulled up to the location, though. He was told to proceed with caution, which meant that the perpetrator was most likely armed. Carlos kept that in mind while he opened his cruiser door. He stepped out, pulling his flashlight from his pocket, his other hand resting on his waistband, above his weapon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moved around the vehicle, up the sidewalk, flashing his light in between the houses on the block. There was nothing there that seemed to be out of the ordinary. The grass was well kept, no skid marks or footprints. Nothing to suggest that this home had been broken into.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, Carlos sighed, letting the exhale relax his entire body. He moved swiftly to the door, hand still over his weapon, though he fully intended not to use it. There would be no bloodshed tonight. Not here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knocked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you find him?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos blinked, dropping his hand to his side when the horrified woman in front of him sized him up. “You’re police. You must have found him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos lets his gaze flicker from the woman, to his partner, and back again, clearly confused. He sighed and turned off his flashlight, setting it back in his pocket. “We got a call about a potential home invasion, ma’am, by a Bruce Ackerman. Who—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Bruce! Did you find him? He, uh… She paused, rubbing her fingers against her puffy eyes. “He’s got dementia. He goes out, sometimes… forgets where he is, but he’s never really been gone this long. I filed a missing person’s report a couple hours ago—around three. You found him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos inhaled, holding it for a moment. “No.” He saw her deflate. “Not exactly, ma’am. Just… give me a moment. I’ll talk to dispatch; see if we can get this sorted out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nodded quickly, and Carlos turned on his heel. He jogged back to the side of the cruiser for some privacy. “Dispatch, negative on 10-62 at this location. Your caller, Bruce Ackerman, was reported missing by his wife at three o’clock this afternoon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Missing?” Grace was just as confused as he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Subject of a silver alert. Mr. Ackerman suffers from early onset dementia. Wife says sometimes he wanders off, though he’s never been gone this long before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He sounded confused, and disoriented.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos wasn't sure if Grace just didn't cut their line of communication, or if he was meant to hear that, but he listened in anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Officer Reyes, is Mrs. Ackerman with you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask her if 1940 Birchwood Avenue means anything to her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos instinctively nodded, before he realized that Grace was, in fact, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>in front of him. He sighed into the radio. “10-4.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos swerved on his heel, turning back to face the woman again. She was so afraid, and he could tell. She was trembling and her eyes were wide and Carlos couldn't remember the last time he felt like that. Not for himself; not for anyone. And though it was painful to watch, it was refreshing to see someone’s love transcending the laws of emotion, forcing her into such a raw, primal state. Carlos knew he had not felt it, but if he were to, he knew exactly who he would feel it for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Amy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Amy, does 1940 Birchwood Avenue mean anything to you?” The words slid off his tongue carefully, as if not to spook her. Carlos didn't know what the address was, and if she did and it wasn’t good, they would be out of luck on the whole deescalation thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw her eyes light up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Yes, that was our old address. When we first moved in together. God, we haven’t lived there in fifteen years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carllos gave a curt nod and looked to his partner before jogging back to the cruiser. “Thank you,” He managed, reaching back for his radio. “She said it's the address of their first home. They haven’t lived there in fifteen years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grace didn't answer him again other than to let him know to take Mrs. Ackerman to the location of the call, and to be forewarned of the weapon on the premises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To be clear, weapons are—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Ackerman is armed with a knife; homeowners with a gun. Proceed with caution, Officer Reyes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took both of those things into account when he approached her again. “Ma’am, Can you come with us. We think we found your husband.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos could have sworn she jumped out of her skin at the moment he said that, but when he found himself turning back to her, she was still holding her composure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chalked it up to his mind playing tricks on him, making him believe that this woman had what he wanted; what he needed with a specific green eyed menace somewhere across town. He wanted something with TK. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s all he could focus on. That</span>
  <em>
    <span> something</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he thought he had before he managed to mess it up. He overstepped; scared him away, and though he and TK were close, Carlos wasn't sure if he was ever going to be where he needed him to be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Driving back to 1940 Birchwood Avenue, his mind was on TK. So much so that the gun on the inside had slipped his mind. Carlos was stuck in a state of longing; one of needing to feel the touch of the other, his lips on his, like they were for the first time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He barely even recognized when the GPS pinged, signalling that he had arrived at his destination. He pulled over to the side of the road, spotting a man on the front porch. His hands were up. He was crying. Why were they always crying?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos knew the answer, rationally. Anyone in any sort of emergency situation would eventually milk the tear ducts at some point, but Carlos never understood why. Even when Iris went missing, Carlos may have cried once, but in his head, he needed to be there for Michelle. He didn't have time to cry. As a first responder, he’s taught to shove fear into the back of his mind and never let it see the light of day. It was the callers he needed to worry about; not himself. There had been people in dire need; people who needed help. He can’t cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just that sometimes he forgets that other people can.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I got lost, Amy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos was pulled out of his daze to see the couple now hooked in an embrace; Mrs. Ackerman—Amy, he reminded himself—running a gentle, manicured hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” She said. “But we found you... We found you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking at the two, Carlos’s mind wandered back to TK, but only one memory, this time. One not too long ago, still after Carlos was sure he ruined everything, but he could remember it so vividly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can't lose him, Carlos.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You aren’t going to, TK, shh.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos could see himself and TK in the middle of his living room floor, slumped over each other in a mess of sobbing limbs and soft whispers. It was the night that TK had found out about the Captain’s cancer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the last real moment that Carlos had with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching the two ignited a feeling that Carlos hadn’t felt in years. It wasn't longing, or pain or excitement. It was jealousy. Pure, unbridled jealousy, because his assumptions were correct. They did have what he wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unconditional love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even through everything, whatever trauma, or mental issues that the couple was going through, they loved each other no matter what. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Carlos was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>ready to do that for TK; to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>that for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was just so sick of waiting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos made up his mind the second the 126 rounded the corner. He was going to tell him; he was going to let him know just how much the brunette meant to him because he couldn't keep doing this to himself. He needed TK Strand out of his head and in his arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Confusion was quick to engulf his emotions, though, because both fire and Medical had been called. He watched the green irises step into view, immediately landing on him from the moment the man stepped out of the truck. They exchanged a smile, and Carlos tilted his head in bewilderment, but was cut off by Owen and Michelle’s conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Possible Cardiac Event.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Being told bedroom, southwest corner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Copy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shoulders found themselves falling as he remained trained on TK. “Be careful,” he mumbled to the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I always am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you aren't.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos wanted to argue with him, but he had a job to do. TK had a life to save, and Carlos had a couple to process for property damage. His job was done. He should be heading back to the station and sending these two home. That was all he had to do. That was all he came here—</span>
  <em>
    <span>wait.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, wait, wait, no, he had to clear the premises of any weapons. The homeowner was armed! He has a gun! TK, wait! TK!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos was six steps into a sprint back to the house when he heard it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't sure if it was his boots thudding against the asphalt, or his heart pounding in his ears at first, so he didn't stop until he realized the silence of the bystanders on the outside, and when he turned to the house, his ears were filled with a string of horrified syllables, vaguely resembling that of his almost-boyfriend’s name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“TK? </span>
  <em>
    <span>TK!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The battering ram fell to the floor with a thud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the first thing Owen noticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Professionalism was never a strong suit of TK’s. At the slightest hint of danger towards his team or his father, and he would drop everything and come to come to the rescue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But this was no emergency, at least not on their end. No one appeared to be hurt, yet the battering ram was just left, discarded on the floor, mere inches from Owen’s foot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That ram must have done its job because that door slammed really loudly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the second thought coursing through Owen’s brain when he eventually allowed himself to think. TK wouldn't be that aggressive. It was just a swing; let the ram do the rest. It was nothing he couldn't handle; definitely not something he would overdo, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was when TK’s hand flew into his field of vision, gripping onto the doorframe, when Owen connected the dots.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen hadn't noticed his hands flying out to his son until the weight in his arms was almost too much to carry. TK wasn’t so little, anymore, and Owen was thankful, because that meant he had more blood to lose. The weight still overwhelmed him, though, as he slowly crouched next to his son, trying his hardest to break his fall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen moved his hands over his son’s chest, pinpointing the entry wound almost immediately. His son was barely sitting up, but judging by the blood on the rug beneath him, Owen deduced that it must have been a clean through-and-through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn't tell if he was thankful or mortified.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That bullet had torn through his boy, forcing splatters of blood all over the wall, ruining whatever could have possibly been in its path. It was cold; angry. Owen could tell that the bullet had a mind of its own, but he didnt know how its mind could have possibly thought up the idea of ripping his son to shreds from the inside out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D-Dad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen was shoved further into his painful reality when his son’s voice cut through his eardrums, laced with pain; fear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, TK,” Owen whispered, eyes trained on his son. His hands were over the bullet wound now, blocking some of the path for blood to pour from. It was no use. TK’s blood was seeping through his fingers, slowly pushing itself from the cracks like magma from an erupting volcano. It was too much. Too much blood; too much chaos…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not enough </span>
  <em>
    <span>help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen couldn’t deal with this alone. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He vaguely heard shuffling beside him, and the sound of Officer Reyes’s voice speaking low. It was gentle; understanding, a source to ground Owen, even if he couldn't make out what the other was saying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>TK had reached up to grab onto his father’s uniform, holding it with white knuckles. Owen pulled one of his hands away to grasp it; grasp the trembling fist on his chest, locking eyes with his son. “I’m right here, Buddy, okay? I’m looking right at you. You just gotta keep your eyes open, okay? You can't go closing them on me. Not yet. Maybe, uh…” Owen’s voice trailed off when he felt TK’s fingers slide from his grip against his chest, but his eyes stayed trained on his father. “Maybe when we get home, we can go straight to bed, and you can rest there, but not here, TK. Not now. I need you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen found himself closing his eyes, still trying to zero in on anything but TK’s labored breaths. He knew he was asphyxiating, right there in front of him, but there was nothing he could do but just…</span>
  <em>
    <span> be</span>
  </em>
  <span> there; just sit and watch his son stop breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help me. Help me, please. I need help. I can't do this, he’s </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>dying</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw TK cough. He saw his body stiffen. He saw him begin to dry heave, with no sound being made other than the faint gurgling in the back of his throat. Owen just sat there, bringing his hand up to his son’s cheek, wiping away the blood that was beginning to drip down from his chapped, parted lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen knew what this was, and he could tell by the look in his son’s eyes that he did, too, but he couldn't do anything. Only Michelle could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, where is Michelle?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had walked in with the entire team, ready to treat the man on the other side of the door. He knew she was here. Why wasn't she helping? Why wasn't</span>
  <em>
    <span> anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> helping? They were all just standing there, frozen, watching their teammate </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>and they weren’t helping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help him, please, someone!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His prayer must have been answered though, because after that moment, Owen heard an abrupt, “Got it!” from Officer Reyes, and he wasn't alone anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But TK hadn't been breathing. He’d been struggling for air so long that Owen couldn't tell when it had stopped. He caught a glimpse of his son’s green irises staring past his shoulder, just before they rolled back, and TK’s body fell limp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“M-Michelle, please, he—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Owen, I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, okay, but I need you to stay calm. Can you hold him still for me, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s already too still.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Michelle—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Owen, I need to alleviate the pressure on his lung. We need to do a thoracotomy before we move him and if you can't get a hold of yourself I need you to step back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not… he's not breathing!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michelle locked eyes with him for a brief moment, before sighing. “Owen, go outside.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Owen—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Michelle could finish, Owen was being yanked back by a tall figure, holding onto him tightly as the Captain thrashed in his arms. He was shaking; clobbering in the grip, but his tears were silent. He couldn't bring himself to scream; to cry. All Owen could do was fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he did, for a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fought and cried and scratched and clawed his heart out, fighting to stay close to his boy, but his effort was futile, given that he learned the pair of arms imprisoning him were Judd’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“TK,” he kept repeating the letters like a mantra, trying to ground himself; keep himself safe, hoping that, for once, the repetition of his boy’s name would bring him back to him. “TK, TK, no, Judd, wait! I need him—TK!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was screaming his throat raw at this point, trying so hard just to shove his way past his crew. It was futile effort, though, and Owen found himself sinking to the ground against the rig. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos chose to look everywhere but the door frame.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A stupid, broken, tattered doorframe that was now stained with TK’s blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He only remembered grabbing the gun, shouting out an </span>
  <em>
    <span>All Clear</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and turning around. The rest was blocked out until he found himself on his knees next to Tim, holding TK’s head still while the other intubated him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why am I here? This isn't my job!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't realize he was crying until TK was finally being transported, and as they moved him, Carlos caught a glimpse of one of his own tears slowly slipping down TK’s nose, landing on his cheek. Carlos was still cupping his face. He was still holding onto him, trying to talk to him, even as they began to push him out of the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only when they broke the threshold that Carlos looked up, and when he did, by some miracle, his gaze caught Captain Strand’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He froze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes flicking between the captain and the captain's son as Owen was ushered to his feet. He saw something click in the other man’s expression. It was as if understanding was a mistress who lent herself to the desperate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew Owen knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carlos!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He startled at Michelle’s voice, but soon relaxed when he saw her waving him over. She was next to the ambulance, cocking her head towards the vehicle as if she were telling him to get inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't need an invitation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos briefly glanced towards his partner, eyebrows raising in a nervous, careful manner, but when he nodded, he sprinted to the ambulance, and forced himself inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chaos of the inside of the vehicle was something that Carlos thought he was prepared for. It was loud, and rough, and Michelle never really let this side of her show; at least not in front of Carlos. She was barking orders at Nancy, begging Tim to step on it, all while never taking her eyes off of TK.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>TK, the most beautiful creature in the world, lying back, shirt ripped off, bullet wound pulsing blood, no matter how hard Michelle pushed gauze to it. TK Strand, the most exciting, charismatic, stupidly kind guy, lying completely still, eyes stuck closed, with nothing but a heart monitor and Nancy’s steady squeezing of the ambu bag to show that he was alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't supposed to end like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just got him. How was he supposed to let him go? TK was there. He’d strutted up to Carlos in the rain with his perfect smile and bragged on his father, and he’s been stuck, unwavering in Carlos’s mind, ever since. There was no way this boy would fade just as easily as he appeared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The feeling of a hand on his shoulder brought him out of his panicked state, and brought his attention to the man sitting next to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos looked up, eyes wide, before he glanced back to his hands. It was only then when he realized that he was clutching onto his pointer finger, and Owen was doing the same to his pinky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If it was any other situation, Carlos would have torn his hand away before Owen could even say anything, but this? This forced Carlos to shut his eyes, and squeeze onto his fingers tighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay to care about him, Carlos. I’m not going to force you away. He doesn’t need that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos felt his body relax a little, and he let his eyelids drag themselves open again. The ambulance was a bit more calm, now. Michelle had resorted to keeping pressure on the wound while Nancy continued pumping air into TK’s body. It almost seemed normal; static in how much they could do, and something about that scared him a little more than the chaos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then what are you going to do to me, sir?” Carlos blinked, letting the stray tears fall where they may. He felt the ambulance come to a halt, Michelle almost tensing when the doors opened. She relayed information, bits and pieces to Carlos,</span>
  <em>
    <span> pneumothorax, possible cerebral hypoxia,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the emergency doctors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then TK was being ripped from his fingers, and panic was setting in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos felt his breath catch in his throat, the burning in his eyes becoming almost unbearable. He opened his mouth, sucking in a breath, but the only thing that came out was a guttural wail. He lost professionalism the moment Owen’s arms wrapped around him, and pulled him from the ambulance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s my fault,” Carlos whimpered, halfway unaware of the fact that Owen was practically holding him up at this point. If the soothing circles on his back were any indication, though, Carlos could tell that the captain didn’t mind. “It’s my fault. I was so focused on Bruce—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carlos, stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But if I hadn’t forgotten— If I had cleared the gun, he would have been okay. He would be okay if I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carlos!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen was holding him up, but Michelle was the one speaking. The trio had opted to shuffle over to a bench outside the ambulance bay, unwilling to force nervous friends and family of intensive patients to listen to a hyper-panicked Officer Carlos Reyes. For a moment, Carlos felt immeasurable guilt, that the father of one of those patients was out here, consoling him, instead of going in; being there for his son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He had a gun, and I forgot, Michelle! He got </span>
  <em>
    <span>shot</span>
  </em>
  <span> because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t do my job!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carlos, I don’t know if you noticed, but you were preoccupied, and you were not the only officer on scene.” Her smooth voice overshadowed a good portion of her worry, but he knew that Michelle was just as broken up about it as she was. “Carlos, I need you to look me dead in the eyes right now and tell me that this isn’t the slightest bit about Iris.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos stiffened, eyes freezing to a spot on the sidewalk. Best friends since high school. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> there for Iris. He joined the academy when Iris joined medical school. They were a team, and he let her go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now he had that again, and he still managed to fuck it up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos let out a harsh sob, fingernails digging into his thighs to try to ground himself. “I miss her so much, ‘Chelle. I don’t want to have to miss him, too,” He sobbed. “I let her go, and I let him go and now they’re both probably gone forever because I wasn’t enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> save them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carlos—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If he makes it out of this he’s gonna hate me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos felt one of the pairs of arms around him tighten, and he let out a tiny whimper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Carlos, I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on between you and my son,” Owen murmured, “but I do know that most nights he isn't with me, he comes home so much happier than when he is. I don’t think he could hate you. I don’t think anyone could.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then what am I supposed to do?” He whimpered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re supposed to take some time, Carlos, maybe fill out you accident reports, like I should probably do, and come back with a clearer head.” Owen managed to catch Carlos’s eye after a moment, but the look of panic that resided behind those soft brown irises proved that he had said the wrong thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told Nathan to tell my boss I was here. They’re not expecting me back at the precinct,” Carlos choked. “I can’t go back there after all this. I messed up so bad. I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michelle cut him off. “Why don’t you, me, and Captain Strand go to the cafeteria and get something to eat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mich, what about—” Carlos couldn’t catch his breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s gonna be in surgery a long time, Carlos. You can’t do anything for him while he’s in the OR. My gut tells me he’d want you to take care of yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He would,” Owen interjected. “He’d probably yell at me for sitting out here with you two without a jacket.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carlos let out a tiny laugh, wiping his eyes. He sniffed, waiting for a moment, before dragging his eyes up to the sky. The stars were light polluted and dim, but they were still there, vast and shining, staring back down at him with a gentle sense of remorse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve known him for four months and I think I’m in love with him,” He laughed to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Owen laughed a little, too, standing up from the bench and holding his hand out towards Carlos. Whatever chastisement; whatever protective parent speeches he had saved up for this exact moment, they all seemed to fly out the window when he looked at Carlos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So when the trembling figure took his hand, he smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the family, Officer.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and Kudos are p rad.</p><p>Come say hi on <a href="https://trkstrnd.tumblr.com">tumblr.🥰t</a></p><p>Signing off,</p><p>trickster.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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